My Pathologist, Mine
by Meilodi
Summary: Sherlock just returned from his grave, but during the period of time he had gone, things had changed more than he anticipated, now he has to win his pathologist back. Sherlolly, spoilers for season 3.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own Sherlock or Molly. I wish I did, though.**

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Sherlock sat in the cafeteria of Barts, he had just returned to London to save the paranoid government of a terrorist attack, mainly because of his brother. He had donned a white wig and some glasses and was gazing at the woman that had always counted, the woman that had helped him when he had been helpless, vulnerable, the woman who was nice and gentle to him, when he was nothing but cruel and harsh to her. The woman otherwise known as Molly Hooper.

The aforementioned woman was sitting across from a brown-haired man, who was fiddling with his fork as Molly giggled and blushed like a schoolgirl.  
_Fiance, detective story lover, tea drinker, public schools, teen gangster, hidden tattoo, not enough sleep, drools when sleeping..._ Countless deductions flashed in front of Sherlock's eyes, but the only phrase he could see was_ Molly deserves better._  
Sherlock swallowed the atrocious coffee that the cafeteria offers and strode out the door, flipping his phone in his hand as he went.

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Molly giggled again, the man in front of her was funny and charming. He had recently proposed to her, and she had said yes. Her friends had all been quite shocked when they saw Tom, for some unknown reason, sure his attire is somewhat familiar, but that can only be an coincidence, right?

Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she excused herself, Tom was understanding, he was always understanding if not too much so. She glanced at her phone, and her face visibly paled as she read the simple message.

_I'm Back._  
_SH_

Those initials stared back at her, it was the initials of the man whom she had yapped and flustered around like a puppy, the man whom she had been hopelessly in love with, the man whom she had helped fake his own death. _I'm Back_. She re-read the short sentence, can it really be? After two years of people accusing him of being a fraud, being a fake, and being a hoax, the media had loved the story of a suicide of a fake genius, it made a catchy headline, after all.

"Molly, do you feel fine?" Tom asked, concerned, "You look pale."

"I'm fine, I'm fine." She repeated, as if saying it twice will make it come true, "I have to go back to work now,"

"Do you want me to take you upstairs,"

"Nah, I think I'll manage." She smiled weakly, and let Tom lean down to kiss her lightly on her cheek. Tom is amazing, he really is, he is all she can ask for, but he is not Sherlock Holmes. His hair is wrong, so is his scent, but Sherlock Holmes is the one man that even the most beautiful women cannot get, let alone the plain, dull Molly Hooper. But still, why had Sherlock Holmes even bothered to inform her of his return to London? She had expected him to just burst through the lab door one day, as if nothing had changed, and ask for some severed fingers. The idea nudged her in the back of her mind as she struggled to concentrate on her work, but the place she works at was full of shadows of him, elbows deep in a man's insides, she was reminded of his lean form whipping the IT technician, in the lab writing reports, she can see his curls bobbing around, his piercing blue eyes gazing into the microscope. She told herself to cut it out, she had eventually came to turns with his reluctance on relationships, but the shadow of him still haunted her on a regular basis. 

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Molly signed, she had survived another day working in the morgue. She rolled her shoulders as she entered the locker room and fished out her keys from her lab coat. Slamming the door open, she jumped back in alarm. There, reflected in the tiny, smudged mirror, was the all too familiar piercing blue eyes and sharp cheekbones. She turned around slowly, as if he would be gone if she made sudden movements, and once she had accomplished the task of turning 180 degrees, she gazed into those eyes for the first time in two years.  
"Sherlock?" She finally managed to splutter, she was leaning against the locker, the ledge of the open locker cutting into her back,  
"Molly." He said, and his baritone brought back a flood of memories.  
"Sherlock, you came back."  
"Yes."  
"Why?"  
"I have disabled Moriarty's criminal network, and London's in need of me once again."  
"Where have you been?"  
"I was mainly in Russia and Siberia," Sherlock began, smugness and pride laced in his tone as always when he gets to talk about all the things he had done, "But Moriarty's network spread much farther across the world than I had anticipa-"  
Molly's phone rang and the screen lit up, showing Tom's face with the blue scarf,  
"Sorry, I have to take this." Molly smiled apologetically, "Hello? Yes... Just got off from work... I'll be home in...twenty minutes? OK, love you, bye."  
"So anyways, as I was saying, Moriarty's-"  
"I'm sorry, Sherlock. But I have to go home now." Molly said, and she shouldered her bag, walked around Sherlock, and pushed open the door into the empty hallway. Sherlock stood rooted to the spot, still looking at the space where Molly had been moments ago, and an unexpected pang of loneliness hit him like a flood, suffocating and drowning him.

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**So what did you think? REVIEW!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

**A/N- How did you guys like the last chapter? Sherlock is a very hard character to write about, especially emotionally, I hope I did a good job. This fanfic is going to span across series 3.**

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_Why did you have to interrupt him like that?_ Molly reprimanded herself as she strode down the sidewalk to the tube station. She had not quite overcame the shock of Sherlock being back again yet, she had known Sherlock was alive, sure, but it's hard to remember when you force yourself to cry at his funeral and comfort John. Molly continued to walk through the wind, the slight drizzle splashing on her face, making it impossible to tell if she's crying, she felt...relieved, and somewhat guilty. She had no idea how to confront John after this, since Sherlock had no doubt told him that she had helped fake his death. She stopped in her tracks, considering going back to Sherlock so he can continue his story, but it's rather awkward to be going back now, isn't it? She had rushed out from a mixture of emotions, which primarily included shock, anger, relief, and just a tiny bit of guilt. Molly had promised herself to get over her hopeless crush on Sherlock when he "died" and she highly suspects that she is not going to accomplish her goal if she continued to stay in the deserted locker room alone with Sherlock Holmes without psyching herself. Gloomily, she boarded the train and went home to Tom, her fiance.

Sherlock stood there, motionless, still staring at the spot where Molly Hooper had previously occupied. The air still smelt faintly of the pomegranate scent of her shampoo.

He recovered from being interrupted quite quickly, after all he was quite used to it, though most people just ignored him. But he was still in quite a shock, being interrupted by Molly Hooper, the woman who obviously fancies him, yes, she still fancies him, he could tell from her pupils and how she darts her eyes around, not quite looking at him straight in the eyes, even though she's engaged. He smiled, Molly is finally standing up to herself and he liked that. 

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Molly woke up groggily, as her phone lit up and buzzed, she rolled over to Tom's side, it's cold, he's gone to work already. The sunlight streamed through the curtains softly and she turned again to check on her phone, which was on top of her book that she was reading last night.

_1pm, 221B Baker Street._  
_SH_

Sherlock again. It's been only three days since he had came back from the dead, Molly had no idea what his plans are, and she's even more confused to the fact that Sherlock actually sent her two texts that does not include unreasonable requests in a week. She checked the time, 7am, she is not going to obsess over what she is going to wear like Christmas again, she's not going to let that ruin her day, she's going to go back to sleep and wear what she will always wear to see Sherlock, because she's engaged and Sherlock is no one worth dressing up for.

Sherlock was sitting on his armchair when he heard the front door of the flat open, he silently stood up and turned to stare out the window, his back to the door, and that is how Molly found him when she entered the door to the sitting room.

"You wanted to see me?" Molly asked rather tentatively,

"Yes." Sherlock said, turned around, and slowly starts walking towards Molly, "Molly?"

"Yes?" Molly prompted, a little surprised to find Sherlock talking so slow and hesitantly. Sherlock looked down and started walking even closer to her,

"Would you like to..."

"Have dinner?" Molly suggested while Sherlock simultaneously said: "Solve Crimes?"

Molly could feel her face heating up slowly, and to avoid Sherlock making a fool out of her, she quickly nodded and said,  
"Sure, I would love to solve crimes with you."

Molly stared as a couple entered the room, the woman is sitting in John's armchair and the man is standing beside him, she wondered briefly if all clients sat in John's chair which he had to sacrifice, Molly shifted in her chair that had been pulled next to Sherlock's armchair,

"Are you sure about this?" She asked quietly, she had no idea what she was supposed to do, she had suspected that John would be reluctant on returning to the crime-solving life, and she had wondered what Sherlock is going to do, apparently, Sherlock would call her and ask for her to stand in for John.

"Absolutely." Sherlock said in what he hoped to be a reassuring tone.

"Should I be making notes?"

"If it makes you feel better." Sherlock had no idea why anyone would feel inclined to make notes, if you can't remember it, then it's not worth remembering.

"It's just that that's what John says he does, so if I'm being John..." She trailed off, she remembered that at Sherlock's funeral, John had mentioned several of their cases together, and had described their crime solving as him scribbling down everything Sherlock was saying as fast as he can.

"You're not being John, you're being yourself."

Molly can't help but smile happily, at least Sherlock is not replacing her as John. Way too fast for her to process, Sherlock had deduced that the client was having an affair and that the "stolen" money was actually withdrawn by himself, he handed the wife a business card of a lawyer and sent them on their way.  
During the next few hours, Molly watched as Sherlock deduced the living hell off clients, shocking them and more often offending them. A completely horrible father posed as his daughter's pen pal, breaks her daughter's heart so that she would swear off relationships and stay at home with the money. And after sitting at Baker Street for nearly five hours, Sherlock dragged Molly to Lestrade, who greeted Molly with a surprised expression, and they entered a room with a skeleton in Victorian clothing sitting at a desk. Molly watched him sniff around the skeleton and the suit, then taking out his pocket magnifying glass for a closer look, she poised her pen on top of her notebook, ready to start scribbling to keep up with Sherlock's fast talking pace.

"Shut up, John." Sherlock suddenly hissed, and both Molly and Lestrade's head snapped around,

"What?" Molly asked, as if she hadn't heard what he had said, even though she heard him perfectly,

"Hm? Nothing."

Lestrade leant in to Sherlock, who was examining the suit of the skeleton,

"This gonna be your new arrangement, is it?" Lestrade whispered, glancing at Molly who was holding her pen, waiting for Sherlock's monologue,

"Just giving it a go." Sherlock said dismally,

"Right. So, John?"

"Not really in the picture any more." Sherlock said, and the scene of John beating him to a pulp flashed before his eyes. He stepped back to look at the whole desk again, when the building rumbled and cement flakes drifted down from the ceiling,

"Trains?" Molly asked,

"Trains." Sherlock confirmed, and he starts thinking deeply,

"Male, forty to fifty." said Molly, who figured that she might as well be useful, had walked towards the corpse and was looking at the bones, she was glad that she was a pathologist then, and then realised that the only reason Sherlock chose her is probably for her medical background, which would've made her the number one substitute John from his narrow circle of friends.

"Oh, sorry, did you want to be?" She said hesitantly, looking around to see Sherlock joining her at the skeleton,

"Er, no. Be my guest." Sherlock said, and John's voice flashed through his mind again, "Shut up!"

Molly glanced at Lestrade nervously, who returned her nervous glance,

"Doesn't make sense." Molly said pensively after examining the skeleton,

"What doesn't?" Lestrade asked,

"The skeleton, it can't be more than..."

"Six months old." Sherlock and Molly said simultaneously.

Sherlock searched the edge of the table, and somehow manages to find a book, he blew the dust off, spared a glance at it, and showed it to Molly,

_**How I Did It**_  
_**By**_  
_**Jack the Ripper**_

"Wow!" Molly said, surprised and impressed. Sherlock flamboyantly dropped the book on the table with a loud bang and Lestrade leaned forward to read the cover,

"It's impossible!"

"Welcome to my world."

"Smart Arse." John's voice again echoed through Sherlock's mind. He grits his teeth, he was not used to mental distractions such as this, how can his own mind be out of his control? He packed up his tools as he rushed through his explanations, giving Molly little time to scribble down everything. Sherlock concluded that the whole thing was a fake, and rushed out the door,

"Why would someone go to all that trouble?" Molly called out after Sherlock,

"Why indeed, John?" Sherlock answered naturally then immediately cursed himself for saying John's name, but the damage's done. Molly looked awkwardly at Greg, feeling hurt, though what did she expect?

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**REVIEW! What did you think?**

**I feel like Sherlock's kind of like a child who does not know how to handle emotions and therefore locks them away but has no idea what to do whey they rush towards him.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

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Molly caught up to Sherlock, who was waiting patiently as an apology for what he did before, and rang the doorbell. Instead of a ring or a buzz, the way too familiar male voice saying "Mind the gap. Mind the gap." Molly giggled and Sherlock smiled, a man opened the door and Sherlock immediately held out the ridiculous hat out towards him,

"Oh, thanks for hanging on to it."

"No problem." Sherlock said, and they followed the man inside. The house is filled to the brim with tube-related merchandise, "So, what's this all about, Mr. Schilcott?"

They had entered a room with a enormous train set with a train running around on top of it, the wall was adorned with posters of all kinds, and basically everything you can find relating to trains.

"My girlfriend's a big fan of yours."

Sherlock chuckled, "Girlfriend?" he asked in a faked surprise tone.

Mr. Schilcott spun around indignantly, Molly glared at Sherlock, who smiled internally, he was pleasantly surprised at how well Molly is standing up to herself, if only he could hear the pep talk Molly is giving herself right now,

"Sorry, do go on." Sherlock apologized, and Molly allowed herself a triumphant smile,

"I like trains."

"Yes." Sherlock said, rolling his eyes and smiling at Molly, who smiled back timidly.

"I work on the tube, on the District Line, and my job is to wipe the security footage." He said as he sat down at his computer, "I was just whizzing through when I found something a bit bizarre."

Mr. Schilcott turned the computer towards Sherlock, who let out a silent "Ooh!" at Molly, who suppressed a giggle. Molly and Sherlock stood on either side of Mr. Schilcott to see the screen. The footage shows a man at the platform.

"Now, this was a week ago, the last train on the Friday night, Westminster station, and this man gets into the last car."

"Car?" Molly asked,

"They're cars, not carriages. It's a legacy of the early American involvement in the Tube system." He said impatiently and irritably.

Molly turned and arched her eyebrows at Sherlock, who replied, "He said he liked trains." Molly nodded in agreement.

"And the next stop..." Mr. Schilcott said, and the footage shows the last carriage, car, opening, but no one is going out. This seemed to have caught Sherlock's attention and he leaned in towards it.

"Though you'd like it." Mr. Schilcott said proudly, and replayed the footage, "He gets into the last car... the only passenger. But it's empty when at St James's Park Station. Explain that, Mr. Holmes."

"Couldn't he have just jumped off?" Molly asked, who had been listening curiously.

Sherlock shook his head while Mr. Schilcott went on to explain a safety mechanism.

"Also, the driver hadn't been to work since then, he's on holiday, came into some cash."

"Bought off?" Sherlock suggested to Molly, who hummed blankly. Sherlock looked at her for a moment longer, then turns to Mr. Schilcott again, Molly could feel the tip of her ears heating up again and stared at her shoes. When she looked up again, the two man had finished their conversation and Sherlock had his eyes closed and his fingers at his temple, it's the position that John had described as "The mind palace position" and it was not to be disturbed. Sherlock suddenly moved towards the doors of the flat and exits it towards the staircase, but didn't descend, Molly hurried behind him and walked down the stairs, only to look up and realize that Sherlock had not followed her. Slightly embarrassed, she walks up slowly again.

"The journey between those stations usually take five minutes. That journey took ten minutes, ten minutes to get from Westminster to St. James's Park." He said rapidly, then looked down the staircase at Molly, "I'm going to need maps, lot's of maps."

"Right." Molly said, and reminded herself to get Sherlock some maps along with the severed fingers.

Sherlock walked past her down the stairs, "Fancy some chips?"

"What?" said a very much surprised Molly, she had not ever seen Sherlock eat, and is he asking her out for dinner?

"I know a fantastic fish shop just off the Marylebone Road. The owner always gives me extra portions."

"Did you get him off a murder charge?" Molly half joked as she walked down the stairs, following Sherlock,

"No. I helped him put up some shelves." Molly giggled and Sherlock smiled briefly.

"Sherlock?" Molly asked hesitantly, now is the time to ask this question, no turning back.

"Hmm?" Sherlock, sensing the seriousness in her tone, stopped at the bottom and turned back to face her,

"What was today about?" Molly finally asked, she had been asking herself that question all day, was it because John was unavailable and he needed an assistant or was it something more?

"Saying thank you." Sherlock said after some debating,

"For what?"

"Everything you did for me." Sherlock said it and he meant it. Molly had done every unreasonable requests he had for her without a complaint, she thought that she did not matter at all to him, when she actually meant the world to him.

"It's okay. It was my pleasure." Molly reached the bottom of the stairs and starts walking to the door, but Sherlock's voice stopped her in her tracks,

"No, I mean it."

"I don't mean pleasure. I mean, I didn't mind. I wanted to help." Molly said, and added silently in her mind,_ that's what friends do, they help each other._

Sherlock stepped closer to her the way he does, invading her personal space and causing her breath to catch, "Moriarty slipped up. He made a mistake." He said intensely but incredibly softly, "Because the one person he thought didn't matter at all to me was the one person that mattered the most. You made it all possible." And even though he would never admit it, he had made the same mistake, he had thought of Molly as nothing more than a tool until that last moment in the lab of Barts Hospital.

"But you can't do this again, can you?" Sherlock says, drawing in a breath and empathizing on the word "this."

Molly smiled softly, "I had a lovely day. I'd love to... I just...um..." Molly looked down, her voice choked.

Sherlock followed her gaze down at a diamond engagement ring, and the unfamiliar mix of emotions, the unfamiliar idea of emotions all together, hit him.

"Oh, congratulations, by the way." Even though he had classified this as a social nicety to say to someone recently engaged, he had meant it truly this time.

"He's not from work." Molly joked, and Sherlock let out one of his rare smiles, "We met through friends, the old fashioned way. He's nice. We...he's got a dog, we... we go to the pub on weekends and he.. I've met his mum and dad and his friends and all his family and I've no idea why I'm telling you this." Molly rambled on, her voice choking and she knew that she was on the verge of tear, though for unfathomable reasons.

"I hope you'll be very happy, Molly Hooper. You deserve it." Sherlock said, "After all not all the men you fall for can turn out to be sociopaths."

"No?"

"No."

Sherlock walked even closer to her, gave her a beautiful smile, leant in and kissed her on the cheek. She closed her eyes and did not dare open them again until she heard the front door open, she turned and saw Sherlock's silhouette disappearing. That was the second time Sherlock had kissed her, she can still feel the spot where his lips had touched her cheek tingling, and she reached her hands halfway up subconsciously,

"Maybe it's just my type." She managed to choke out, but Sherlock had not heard her.

Sherlock signed in the snow, and pulled his coat around him. He turned and walked down the road, the pure white snow flakes settling in his dark curls and the snow crunched under his feet, he did not know what he was feeling, but he did not like it, it felt like someone had dug out a gut and left a gaping hole in his body.

Molly watched Sherlock's lean silhouette walk away as she pulled on her gloves, and walked in the opposite direction, the snow cold against her face as she choked back her tears. No tears now, she had done enough crying for Sherlock Holmes.

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**REVIEW! What did you think? The story is going to have seven chapters in total, so stay tuned!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my fair share of air and sunlight.**

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Sherlock watched his empty flat, his back to his bullet hole filled wall. The dust floated in the air, and the dim sunlight streamed into the flat from the crack in the curtains. John's voice again flashed through his mind and he shook his head, annoyed at the mental disturbance. John and Mary had dropped by earlier, and they already had a wedding date, but there's still the nightmarish wedding plans. Sherlock looked at the huge amount of Sydney Opera houses on the carpet and the stacks of paper on the desk, the bridesmaids are wearing lilac, and everything is going to be perfect that day, nothing is going to be in the way.

He then sat down at his armchair, clasping his hands together. He was confused when John had asked him to be his best man, he had not expected to be someone's best friend, he had always thought that John's best friend was Mike Stamford, but it seems like it's not. In fact, it was him. Sherlock Holmes is the best friend of John Watson, he can't help but smile at the idea, which is nice, if not absurd.

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Molly signed as she sifted through the mail, the usual array of bills dampened her mood. She had not seen Sherlock for days, she wondered if she should drop by Baker Street and ask... No. She would not do that. She does not care if Sherlock Holmes had a drug relapse of has difficulties coping with John and Mary's engagement, can he be having a drug relapse? She should check, if he doesn't show up at the morgue tomorrow, she would drop by and see Mrs. Hudson, and just pop upstairs to see Sherlock for a bit, yes, that's what she'll do.

Her stream of thoughts ended suddenly when she saw a beautiful envelope addressed to her from John and Mary,  
_It must be the wedding invitation!_ She thought excitedly and opened it carefully, the design was simple with the bride and groom's names in an elegant print.  
She felt so happy for them, and now she will definitely see Sherlock at their wedding. Wait, Sherlock has nothing to do with this, she's just glad that they are getting married, it has nothing to do with seeing Sherlock there in a suit and probably top hat.  
_Will Sherlock be John's best man? How will he cope with that?_ Molly thought, _Sherlock was used to speaking loudly, there's a good chance that he won't be shy, but what is going to happen? There will actually be people listening to him talking, it's not just him ranting on and everyone else ignoring him._ A sudden feeling of dread flooded her and she reminded herself to call someone to share her concerns. 

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The sound of the violin drifted downstairs from the second floor and Mrs. Hudson smiled, Sherlock would usually be shooting the wall by now, it has been a long time before there's been a case, but thankfully John and Mary's wedding is keeping him busy. Mrs. Hudson seriously thought that Sherlock and John were a couple though, she can't believe that John had moved on so soon after Sherlock, no matter how many times John insists that he's not gay, the landlady -not housekeeper- always knows.

Upstairs, Sherlock stopped playing for a while to draw on a note, then continued from the top. He was composing a surprise for John, a waltz for the doctor and his wife. The waltz was simply titled "John and Mary's Waltz" but secretly, he called it "For John," he finished the last note with a flourish, and played back the recording. He cannot help but sway to the rhythm gently, he had taught John how to waltz yesterday with closed curtains but Mrs. Hudson had walked in on them.

"Boys?" Mrs. Hudson called through the door, the sound of Sherlock's violin drifted through the closed door, and she could just imagine the scene inside, Sherlock playing the violin and John trying not to dose off to the soft music while reading the paper. Hearing no reply, Mrs. Hudson opened the door but the sight before her made her gasp. Sherlock and John was standing in the middle of the room, John was in Sherlock's arms, and Sherlock was dipping John,

"And this is where you..." Sherlock trailed off and both the boys looked up to see Mrs. Hudson at the doorway, Sherlock dropped John, who fell to the floor with a thud, and they both straightened up.

"Um... Sherlock was teaching me how to dance." John explained, his face red as a tomato, Sherlock walked to his iPod and stopped the music, and an eerie silence settled in the flat.

"Please, continue." Mrs. Hudson said after setting the tray of tea down on the table with a slight hint of a smile, "We don't want John to drop Mary like that during the dance, do we Sherlock?"

"No, Mrs. Hudson, we do not." Sherlock said, and watched Mrs. Hudson exit the room, closing the door behind her.

"Now, let's swap positions." Sherlock turned to John, who had a little difficulty imagining Sherlock's tall frame as Mary.

Sherlock snapped back, flashbacks were not for an intellectual mind such as his, he could not afford the mental distractions, how can his own mind be making things up? His mind is not built for imagining things, it's built for deductions, he had always scored poorly in creative writing until he gave up and started writing about the life of some random person he met on the street based on what he can deduce from their attire. He is not feeling emotions now that he's completely ignored them for the last 30 years, he is not going to succumb to human emotions. He's made that mistake before, he's not about to make it again. And in his mind palace, he built yet another wall around the pitifully small "emotions" section.

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**Here is your chapter 4! I'll upload the next chapter as soon as I can.**

**It's final! This fanfic is going to have seven chapters and an epilogue. Stay tuned!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**Disclaimer: I really don't own anything.**

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Today's the day. Sherlock looked in the mirror and fitted on his top hat. He braced himself for a day full of people and social niceties. Then he went out the door.

* * *

_Why did I rip another stocking?_ Molly cursed herself and rummaged in the drawers for a new pair of stockings, on the carpet lay three stockings that she had managed to rip while getting dressed. She successfully pulled on the stockings and slipped in the yellow dress she had laid out earlier, Tom had already dressed in his suit and was waiting patiently in the living room, the telly unbearably loud. She walked to her mirror, and looked at the array of cosmetics, she had always hated putting on makeup, especially lipstick after her failed attempt to attract Sherlock Holmes. It would've been better if he just ignored it, but no, he had to point it out.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she picked up the tube of lipstick she had not touched for a long time, the shade reminded her of Sherlock and the kiss at the Christmas party way too much, and she swiped it on her -in the words of Sherlock Holmes- too small mouth.

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The ceremony was uneventful, no one in the audience were mass murderers or psychopaths, but a surprisingly large amount of guests were having an affair, and a few had secret spouses hidden in remote towns, and the weird people were mostly John's friends, and he did not have many friends.  
He saw Molly smiling as John kissed Mary on the alter, her fiance were dull, nothing of interests whatsoever except his fascination with marvel superheroes. He doubted that many people knew of his obsessive behavior concerning spiderman.

Molly watched from the side as the wedding photographs were taken, Mary's friend, also the chief bridesmaid, were clutching Sherlock's arm closely and smiling charmingly at the photographer, Sherlock was his usual cool and emotionless self. They looked cute together, even Molly has to admit that, but that does not mean that she has to like it when a woman clutched Sherlock's arm closely, not that she has any reason to care about that, she's engaged already, for crying out loud.

Molly has no idea why she was doing this, she usually does not openly display affections like this, especially at such a formal occasion, and yet here she was, kissing her fiance's cheeks non-stop, the shy and timid Molly Hooper kissed him and kissed him, not knowing why she felt the need to display her relationship with him. Was it jealousy, she mused to herself, but she quickly shut herself up before she can muse any further. She continued to kiss his cheek, not knowing why she felt so empty inside.

"Now on to some funny stories about John..." He trailed off and scanned the crowd, everyone is dabbing at their eyes, what is going on. Usually when someone cries at his words, something bad is going on, the last time it happened he was interrogating a member of the russian mafia, but he cried mainly due to pain and not his words. This is not good. Lestrade is desperately blinking his eyes, Molly is smiling and crying at the same time, so is Mrs. Hudson. He turned to John,

"What's wrong? What happened? Why are you all doing that? John?" He asked in a panicked voice.

Molly smiled rather proudly at him, and Mrs. Hudson whimpered tearfully,"Oh, Sherlock!"

"Did I do it wrong?" Sherlock looked down at John,

"No you didn't, come here." John said while standing up, and he pulled him into a tight hug. The guests broke into an applause and everyone smiled happily,

"I haven't finished yet." Sherlock said over John's shoulder, his arms pinned to his sides by the hug.

"Yeah, I know. I know." John said into Sherlock's jacket, and he pulled away,

"So, on to some funny stories..." Sherlock said immediately after John releases him, he was not used to being in a room full of people crying from happiness, and he wanted it to be over as soon as possible,

"Can you, can you wait till I sit down?" John said, the crowd continued to applause until John sat down and cleared his throats,

"So, on to some funny stories about John." Sherlock looked up at the guests, and decided that he did not like the mood one bit, it did not suit any of the descriptions in the books he had purchased in preparation of the wedding and especially his best man speech, "If you could all just cheer up a bit, that could be better."

The crowd laughed, and Sherlock secretly signed a sign of relief. Then he took out his phone to continue his planned speech.

Molly smiled rather proudly. Sherlock was doing wonderfully so far for his wedding speech, he had succeeded in making almost everyone cry in the first ten minutes of the speech, even though his funny stories are not exactly funny at all, he's doing a wonderful job. A wonderful job indeed.  
Molly watched as Sherlock rambled on and on, talking first about the bloody guardsman then about John's stag night. For some reason Sherlock thought it was a good idea for them to go to a gay bar, she remembered being asked to calculate how much alcohol for them to consume, and her face flushed at the memory of her bragging about her sex life just to make Sherlock jealous, the stag night still ended with them getting drunk and getting sent to the police, thankfully Lestrade was kind enough to bail them out. The speech ended abruptly with the best man and the groom dashing off, followed closely by the bride.

"Solve it, then." Major Sholto's voice drifted through the door,

"I-I'm sorry?"

"You're the famous Mr. Holmes. Solve the case." Sherlock straightened up and paced rapidly in a small circle, his eyes darted from side to side,

"Tell me how he did it and I'll open the door." Major Sholto insisted,

"Please. This is no time for games, just let us in! You're in danger!" John shouted through the door, his voice sounding pained,

"So are you, as long as you're here."

"Solve it." Mary suddenly said, and Sherlock stopped pacing,

"Sorry?"

"Solve it and he'll open the door."

"If I can't solve it before, how can I solve it now?"

"Because it matters now." Mary said, her eyes pleading at Sherlock,

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock turned to John, panic setting in his eyes, this is not how he had planned the wedding at all, "What's she talking about? Get your wife under control."

"She's right."

"Oh, you've changed."

"No she is." John insisted, and pointed at Sherlock, "Shut up. You are not a puzzle solver, you never have been. You're a drama queen!"

Sherlock's mouth drops and he continued to stare at him,

"Now, there is a man in there about to die." John says, imitating Sherlock, "The game is on! Solve it!"  
Sherlock eyes drifted upwards as he concentrated, his mind racing against itself. Then, suddenly, he snapped out of the trance, he grasped Mary's head and kissed her on the forehead.

"Though, in fairness, he's a drama queen too." Sherlock said, much more relaxed this time,

"Yeah, I know." Mary replied, relieved.

Then Sherlock walked over to the door,

"Major Sholto, there is no one coming to kill you. I'm afraid you've already been killed several hours ago."

"What?"

"Don't take off your belt."

"My belt?"

"His belt, yes. Bainbridge was stabbed hours before we even saw him, but it was through his belt." Sherlock said, turning to the other two, "Tight belt, worn high on the waist. Very easy to push a small blade through the fabric and you wouldn't even feel it."

"The..the belt would bind the flesh together when it was tied tight." John said, beginning to understand it,

"Exactly."

"...and when you took it off..."

"Delayed action stabbing. All the time in the world to create an alibi." Sherlock rattled the door handle, "Major Sholto?"

"So. I was to be killed by my uniform, how appropriate."

"He solved the case, Major." Mary said loudly through the door, "You're supposed to open the door now, a deal is a deal."

"I'm not even supposed to have this anymore." Major Sholto said, looking at himself in the mirror, "They gave me special dispensation to keep it. I couldn't imagine life out of this uniform, I suppose I don't have to."

"Whatever you're doing in there, stop it. right now. I will kick this door down."

"Mr. Holmes, you and I are similar, I think."

"Yes, I think we are." Sherlock had anticipated that this would happen, he walked closer to the door and John stepped away,

"There's a proper time to die, isn't there."

"Of course there is." Sherlock agreed,

"And one should embrace it when it comes. Like a soldier."

"Of course one should, but not at John's wedding." Sherlock said firmly, "We wouldn't do that, would we, you and me? We would never do that to John Watson."

Sherlock had planned this wedding from the very beginning, he had stripped off his info wall for the wedding plans, he had actually for once looked forward and prepared for a event which included people gathered together for a meaningless celebration, he had done whatever he can to make John Watson's wedding perfect, but there is things out of his control.

"I'm gonna break it down." John said after a moment of silence,

"No, wait, wait. You won't have to."

"Hmm?"

The door creaked open slowly, Major Sholto looked briefly at Sherlock, then lowered his eyes to John,

"I believe I am in need of medical attention."

"I believe I am your doctor." 

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	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything**

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Molly mingled amongst the crowd, the guests had automatically formed a circle for when the bride and groom will come in and dance the first dance of the night. The best man speech was marvelous, especially from Sherlock, but the ending was quite surprising. The guests talked among themselves quietly, then Sherlock emerged from the door and climbed up the stage.

He didn't say anything, just picked up his violin and tuned it, the sound drew everyone's attention to him, but he remained motionless. Then, the door opened fully and the bride and groom entered hand in hand, they got into position for their waltz, and Sherlock started playing on his violin.

Everyone smiled happily as the couple danced slowly, circling around the room, Sherlock's eyes were fixed on them, he was happy for John, he really was, even though the familiar armchair will no longer be occupied and he would not have a doctor by his side at all times.

John dipped Mary, as Sherlock had instructed, and kissed her, as Sherlock had instructed also. Everyone applauded, looking at the happy couple, Janine applauded not at the couple, but at Sherlock.

"Ladies and gentlemen, just, er, one last thing before the evening begins properly. Apologies for earlier, a crises arose and was dealt with." Sherlock spoke calmly into the microphone, everyone stopped talking and turned to face him,

"More importantly, however, today we saw two people make vows. I've never made a vow in my life, and after tonight I never will again." Sherlock said, he can't help it but sentiment had gotten the better of him, _Never make promises you cannot keep_, his mother's words from his childhood echoed in his mind,

"So, here in front of you all, my first and last vow. Mary and John, whatever it takes, whatever happens, from now on I swear I will always be there, always, for all three of you." Sherlock said, then realised, "Er, I'm sorry. I mean, I mean the two of you. All two of you, both of you, in fact, I've just miscounted." Sherlock said quickly, then drew in a sharp breath, "Anyway, it's time for dancing. Play the music again, please, thank you." He waved at the DJ and the music begins to play.

"OK, everybody, just dance don't be shy." He said while walking off the stage, "Dancing, please!"  
The guests moved to the floor and starts dancing. Sherlock walked over to Mary and John, both of whom was looking at him quizzically,

"Sorry, that was one more deduction than I was really expecting." Sherlock explained rapidly,

"Deduction?" Mary questioned,

"Increased appetite, change of taste perception, and you were sick this morning. You assumed it was just wedding nerves but got angry when I mentioned it to you. All the signed are there."

"The signs?"

"The signs of three." Sherlock said, and dropped his gaze to Mary's abdomen,

"What?"

"Mary, I think you should do a pregnancy test."

John signed and dropped his head, almost bending over while Mary grinned at Sherlock,

"W...th...the statistics for the first trimester are..."

"Shut up." John said, straightening up, Sherlock froze, "Just...shut up."

"Sorry."

John turned to Mary with a annoyed look, "How did he notice before me? I'm a bloody doctor."

"It's your day off." Sherlock explained casually,

"It's your day off!"

"Stop, stop panicking."

"I'm not panicking."

"I'm pregnant, I'm panicking." Mary said, and she does indeed look like she's panicking,

"Don't panic. None of you panic." Sherlock said urgently, "absolutely no reason to panic."

"Oh, and you'd know, of course?"

"Yes, I would. You're already the best parents in the world, look at all the practice you've had!"

"What practice?"

"Well, you're hardly gonna need me around now that you've got a real baby on the way." Sherlock smiled, he really was happy for them, even if it means he had to go back to his old life, he turned to Mary, continuing to smile, but now the smile was starting to fade away alarmingly fast, he scolded himself for thinking too much about the future, Just focus on the wedding, he mentally scolded himself,

"You all right?" John turned to Mary,

"Yeah." Mary said.

"Dance." Sherlock abruptly said,

"Mm?"

"Both of you, now, go dance. We can't just stand here, people will wonder what we're talking about."

"Right."

"And what about you?" Mary reached over to touch Sherlock's arm,

"Well, we can't all three dance. There are limits!" John joked,

"Yes there are." Sherlock confirmed, though he wished there wasn't,

"Come on, husband, let's go."

"This isn't a waltz, it is?"

"Don't worry, Mary, I have been tutoring him." Sherlock called out to the couple slowly swaying to the beat,

"He did, you know, Baker Street, behind closed curtains." John said while taking her hand with his hand and putting the other hand on her waist, "Mrs. Hudson came in one time. Don't know how those rumours started."  
Sherlock smiled at them, simply because that's what he's supposed to do, even though the pain gnawed at him on the inside. He lowed his head, he realized how much he stood out from the crowd just then, everyone was dancing and laughing except him, he's alone, he's Sherlock Holmes. He turned slowly, scanning the crowd, then he met Janine's eyes, who smiled at him, he returned her smile, and walked a step towards her, _It's John's wedding, you can afford to dance. It's what you're expected to do, dance and have fun._ But then Janine lifted up her hand, pointed at a man with her thumb up, grinning happily. Sherlock froze, she's dancing with the man he had recommended to her earlier, Sherlock continued to stand there for a few moments then walked up the stage.  
The music he had written for his blogger stood on the music stand,

_Waltz,_  
_for Mary & John_  
_by_  
_Sherlock Holmes_

He picked it up, folded it, and put it in an envelope, which he placed on the stand.

_Dr. and Mrs. Watson_

He walked through the guests and out the door, he flung his coat on his back, turned the collar up, and walked away not knowing where he's going, anywhere but this place filled with people dancing and laughing, not a good place for a sociopath, not a good place at all. He felt lonely, a emotion he had felt more and more often since his return from the grave.

Molly watched Sherlock as he walked through the crowd and out the door, he looked so alone and sad, but he's Sherlock Holmes, a machine that does not have any emotions, she will not embarrass herself again by humanizing Sherlock and mistaking him for having emotions. She turned back to Tom and Mrs. Hudson, and bounced to the beat, even though she no longer felt like dancing.

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	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

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The helicopter tore at Sherlock's hair, blowing it in a hundred different directions, the red laser dots signaling a rifle pointed at his and John's chest. Magnussen laughed,

"Here we go, Mr. Holmes!"

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, stand away from that man." Mycroft's voice blared through the speakers,

"To clarify, Appledore's vaults only exist in your mind, nowhere else, just there." Sherlock shouted to be heard over the sound of the helicopters,

"They're not real. They never have been."

Sherlock nodded.

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, step away." Mycroft's voice was deafening combined with the helicopter motors,

"It's fine, they're harmless!" Magnussen shouted at the helicopter, waving his hand calmly,

"Sherlock, what do we do?" John turned to Sherlock, panic setting in as the police moved into position, their rifles casting red dots,

"Nothing!" Magnussen said smugly, "There's nothing to be done! Oh, I'm not a villain. I have no evil plan. I'm a business man, acquiring assets. You happen to be one of them!"

Sherlock looked at John, he knew there was only one way out of this. He had made a dire miscalculation, his blogger is in trouble. Magnussen is just a business man, there is no underground Appledore vaults, he had miscalculated, he had lost.

"Sorry, no change for you to be a hero this time, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock looked down, and took a deep breath. _Never make a promise you cannot keep._ The voice of his mother echoed through his mind, followed by his own voice _I'll take the case, Mary and John, whatever it takes, whatever happens, from now on I swear I will always be there, always, for all three of you. I will always be there for you._  
Sherlock lifted up his head and reached into John's coat pocket, grasped the familiar object in his hand, and walked towards Magnussen.

"Oh, do your research,. I'm not a hero." Sherlock said loudly, and Magnussen turned to look at him, "I'm a high functioning sociopath. Merry Christmas!"

Sherlock raised John's gun and fired it at Magnussen's head, then dropped the gun to the floor, raising his hands.

"Get away from me, John!" Sherlock looked at him, his eyes a dark blue pool filled with emotions that he had sworn off at an early age, "Stay well back!"

"Christ, Sherlock!" John spat out, he can hear his own heartbeat in his eardrums, and he raised his own hands.

"Stand fire!" Mycroft said frantically into his microphone, panic coloured in his voice, "Do not fire on Sherlock Holmes! Do not fire!"

"Oh, Christ Sherlock."

"Give my love to Mary." Sherlock said, turning towards John, "Tell her she's safe now."

Sherlock stole one final glance at his best friend, and walked towards the helicopter, sinking to his knees. This time, it's not a magic trick. He had done something no one can save him from, the laser red dots traveled over his face, and he closed his eyes.

* * *

Molly looked up, Sherlock's brother, Mycroft entered the lab with his usual air of easiness and coolness, but something was amiss and unnatural about his demeanor. This was the second time she had seen him, the first time being Sherlock's funeral.

"Mr. Holmes." Molly said, and watched as Mycroft stopped to stand in front of her and took out an envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket,

"I am regrettable to inform you that my brother Sherlock Holmes has taken a job in the secret agencies and will not be returning to London for quite a while. You will not be allowed to see him off at the airport, but he had written you a letter which I had assured him I will personally deliver to you." Mycroft recited calmly, and handed her the envelope, then he immediately spun on his heels and left the lab, the doors swinging shut behind him.

Molly looked at the envelope, she had known about Sherlock going away, John had told her as much even though he's not technically allowed to, Sherlock had done something stupid again and has to leave the country, only this time he might not come back.

The envelope was simple enough, with her name scrawled across it in Sherlock's handwriting. She had last seen his handwriting on a notepad with chemical symbols and names scribbled all over it, she closed her eyes briefly before opening them again, the seal on the envelope was broken already, but she expected as much, from what Sherlock had told her about Mycroft, which isn't a lot, Mycroft was bound to inspect it. What could the self-proclaimed sociopath want to say to her in a letter? Why not a phone call or a text like he preferred? The notepaper was folded in half, and with slightly shaking fingers, she opened it.

_Goodbye, my Molly Hooper, Goodbye._  
_SH_

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	8. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything.**

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"Molly." Sherlock's voice echoed in the dark room. The room was pitch black except for a beam of white light coming from a doorway,

"Sherlock?" Molly called out uncertainly.

"Molly." Sherlock said again, and he appeared in the beam of light, his back facing it so that a dark shadow was casted across his face,

"Sherlock! Where are we? What are we doing here? I thought you were-" She was abruptly cut off by Sherlock placing a finger on her lips,

"Shh." Sherlock walked closer to her, stepping into her personal space like so many times before,

"Sher-"

"Shh." Sherlock hushed her again, he was so close that his scent filled her nostrils, a combination of dusty books, tea, and barely noticeable aftershave that had filled the lab at Barts so often before.

Sherlock started leaning in to her until his face was an inch from hers, his light blue-green eyes stared intently into hers, and she forced herself to stare back into the deep pool, a lump filled her throat, she swallowed, but it will not go away, she can feel her breathing increase rapidly,

"Sher-" She attempted to say again,

"Shh." Sherlock whispered, and closed the distance between them, leaning in until their lips touch. Molly could feel the softness of his lips on her own, the butterflies she had always felt in her stomach whenever he was in her sights went mad, fluttering around the confined space crazily, and a warm feeling spread all over her body. Her hands reached up subconsciously to his hair, but Sherlock pulled away before she can reach his curls. She watched as Sherlock was pulled away into the light by a invisible force, his face expressionless, she tried to call out, to reach towards him, but her tongue had decided not to work, and her limbs had agreed to freeze, so she watched in horror as Sherlock vanished into the blinding white light.

* * *

Molly opened her eyes as she jolted awake. A breeze blew in through the open window and the thin curtain billowed out. Her sheets were tangled and damp with her sweat, she felt like she was drowning. She sat up and glanced at the window, where a gust of cold air rushed into the room, she continued to look at it curiously, she was certain that the window had been closed the night before, she had checked just before she went to bed. Molly climbed out of the bed, her damp pyjamas clinging on to her as she walked to the window, reaching a hand out to close it, but immediately recoiling.

There, on the pavement, in the orange light casted by the streetlamp, was the shadow of a man she thought she had lost forever.

Molly gasped at the shadow, and ran out the door, pulling on her coat. The street was deserted except for a lone figure standing under the lamppost, leaning on it as if nothing has happened.

"Sherlock...I...I thought you were..." Molly trailed off, and walked closer to him,

"Shh." Sherlock whispered tenderly as he crossed the distance between them in one stride. They were so close, and his scent, the smell that should not be good but is, filled her nostrils, just like her dream. Sherlock looked down at her while she craned her neck to look into his eyes, then, ever so slowly, Sherlock dipped his head until his lips met hers. The kiss was everything her dream had told her it would be and more, she felt his light stubble scratch across her cheek, but she didn't mind, she raised her hand hesitantly, sillily afraid that her dream foretold something, but shrugged the thought off and tangled her fingers in his rich, dark curls. She signed into his mouth and pulled him closer, feeling Sherlock wrap his arms around her waist, she closed her eyes. There the two of them kissed, under the yellow glow of the streetlamp, the gaping hole in Sherlock's chest filling up slowly until he was no longer even partially empty, but whole. Molly giggled into the kiss, and Sherlock pulled away, their noses still touching.

"What?" Molly giggled again, feeling the intensity of Sherlock's stare.

"Nothing." Sherlock said, and their lips found each other again.

THE END

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